


Carpe Noctem

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5662516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon Dean can have anything he wants.</p>
<p>He wants Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpe Noctem

**Author's Note:**

> Set very early Season 10. "Carpe Noctem" is Latin for "Seize the Night", but it sounds cooler in Latin, so there you have it. Un-beta'd. Um, I didn't call this rape/non-con because Cas does actually, explicitly, consent, but... yeah. It's dubious at best. Also, I'm not sure if demons can cross through holy fire? I'm not sure it's ever been addressed? So I assumed a thing.

“Think of it, Dean, my boy. No more morals, no more rules, no more worry or heartache. The world is yours. Anything you want -  _ anything _ \- is yours. So.” Crowley widens his eyes, and a slow smile stretches over his face like the Cheshire Cat as he steps into Dean’s personal space. “Tell me, Dean Winchester. What… is it… that you want?”

There are easy answers: Girls. Alcohol. Money. An endorphin release that lasts into eternity. But the thing is, Dean’s had all that before. As a human, as a hunter, he had chicks. He had booze. He had all the adrenaline rush a man could ever want and then some.

But he hadn’t had the angel.

He hadn’t had, hadn’t been able to nail down the one and only thing he’d lusted after from a hell-burned handprint to the end of the world and back again, across betrayal and right on up from Purgatory and all over post-apocalyptic America once again… but now.  _ Now _ . Now without guilt or thought or any sort of resonance he can have it if he wants.

“Castiel.”

It gives Dean a sick pleasure the way Crowley’s expression twists beyond recognition and his head tilts to the side in utter confusion. He says nothing for a long time, and the longer he’s quiet, the wider Dean smiles in self-satisfaction. “Are you mad?” the question finally comes out with a fling of his right hand to the side, and Dean downright chuckles at that, slamming his beer up and down on the bar. “Riches. Women. Bloody hell, you want a retirement fund, we’ll go hold up a bank. I give you carte blanche on the whole bloody earth and what do you come back with? You want your angel boyfriend, same as always.”

“He never was-- wait. You knew?”

“Don’t kid yourself, Dean. Everyone knew. Not that it matters much anymore I suppose.” He gives a shrug and a little bit of a frown at that, before he really pauses to take in Dean’s expression. “Wait. Do you mean to tell me that the two of you never…” And the King of Hell loses it then, well and truly, laughing and slapping the bar so hard he nearly falls off the barstool. “Ah, I should’ve figured, what with all the… angsty glances, and the betrayal and all that - I guess I’m proud to have played a part in your little star-crossed lovers tragedy. Water under the bridge now, though, Darling. No way he’d have you, not anymore. Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but Heaven and Hell? Their soldiers don’t mate in the middle if you get my meaning. Unless… you…”

“I said I want the angel.” For the first time in days, Dean’s expression sobers to a set frown and a tense growl. But Crowley stares right back, because in those eyes he sees something unmistakable and dark, something that sets this smoulder apart from the countless patented Winchester Glares he’s endured over the years. “And I’m gonna have him. One way or another.”

“Well then.” Crowley’s smirk and twinkle return with arrogant confidence. “Let’s go find your angel boy.”

***

Castiel isn’t hard to find. Castiel has never been hard to find, not for Dean, because they’re linked in some cursed and holy way that Dean’s never understood and he’s not sure Cas can really explain either. It was cut-and-dry in the early days, but after death and rebirth and angel fire and pulled back from Purgatory and loss of grace… after all that, something’s still got them bound, and Cas comes when he calls.

He knows, though, in the split second before Dean drops a match to light the oil ring. Their eyes connect across an empty ten-foot span of night-dark forest. Dean’s seen that look of hurt before - the pained expression he catches on Castiel’s face - and he remembers how it used to twist his heart into a knot. But now, lit by the flame of angel fire, Dean feels nothing of the sort. His breath comes in heavy pants of lust and desire, and he knows that’s what Cas sees on his face. Finally. Unburdened, unbridled. Lust.

“Dean.”

“Cas.” He takes a step toward the flames. It’s hot as hell, but then, he’s known hell fire, and it’s nothing like this. This fire? This fire he could walk through for days.

“This isn’t you, Dean.”

“Oh, this is me. This is finally, unapologetically, one-hundred-percent me. This is me getting what I’ve wanted for years, and you know what? I can already tell it’s gonna be good. I can already feel you squirming. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.” He steps over the flame like it’s powder and watches with a hint of satisfaction the way Cas takes a couple of steps backward toward the ring of flames before thinking better of it. “I’ve wanted this for...well, I’m pretty sure the first time I thought it was when you showed up in my head after the crap with the witnesses-- yeah, that’s right. We go way back, huh, Cas? We were in Bobby’s kitchen. And you said to me… you said I should show you some respect. And hell, Cas, all I could think was  _ God that cocky bastard’s got it coming to that beautiful mouth of his.  _ And we danced around it. And around it. And around it.” With each repetition he paces clockwise, and Castiel moves in perfect time - a hunter and his prey, sizing one another up. “No more dancing, Castiel. We do this now.” For the first time since he started speaking, as Dean takes a step, Castiel… doesn’t. So Dean takes another step. And another. Until he’s in arm’s reach of his prize.

“It was never supposed to-- I never wanted--”

“Don’t lie to me, Castiel. You want it. You know you do.”

“I did.” For the first time, Castiel takes an offensive pose, straightening his back and leveling his chin. “Heaven knows I did. I gave up everything for you because of how much I cared-- because of how much  _ I loved you _ . How much I love you still. Right now. But this isn’t you.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe you just don’t want to face it,” Dean challenges, and now he’s got the angel in his arms for the first time ever, and it feels fantastic, a surge of pure  _ good _ in his arms that should burn like hell against his demonic skin but doesn’t, somehow, probably because right now Castiel is the more human being between them. “Maybe you just don’t want to accept that this is what I would’ve done all along if we’d been able to go more than five friggin’ minutes without an interruption. Well, now I’m gonna have it, Cas. Now I’m gonna have you. All of you. First, though. I suppose I should pretend to be romantic.” He captures Castiel’s mouth in a kiss while the angel’s lips are already parted in worry and confusion, seizing the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. Castiel tastes like… like  _ purity _ , if purity could be a flavor. He tastes like feelings and innocence and confusion and want and…  _ sacrifice _ . The word whispers across Dean’s frontal cortex and makes him pull back only slightly - enough to give the angel an out, if he wants one. But Cas doesn’t take it. “So,” he breathes gruffly against the angel’s lips, “you want this too.”

“No.” Cas’s reply is equally gruff, but it’s tinged with resignation. “Not like this. Not with you… this way.”

“Well then, too damn bad.” He’s back on Cas then, body pressed against the angel with more force and urgency than before. He wedges one thigh between Cas’s legs and uses his newfound demon-level strength to force Cas to his knees. He’s reaching for his fly, content to force himself down Cas’s throat, when he feels Cas’s hands intercept his own at the zipper. He glances down at the man he now holds by the hair, one eyebrow arched in question. “Really? That’s your half-assed attempt to stop me?”

“No.” And if possible, Dean arches the eyebrow even higher into his hairline at the quiet… there it is again, it sounds like  _ sacrifice _ … in Castiel’s voice. “Let me.”

“Well then.” He moves his hand and lets Castiel pop the button, lower the zipper and take out Dean’s erection, hissing at the feather-softness of his hands, his touch. “Fuck, Cas. Better than I imagined.”

Cas is quiet in consideration as he fucking  _ pets _ Dean’s cock for longer than Dean thinks is probably necessary, but it feels fantastic, so he just fists his hand tighter in the angel’s hair. Then he speaks, in the same calm, level voice he’s always had, “I want you to understand… Dean… why I’m doing this.”

“I don’t fucking care. Suck that, Castiel, before I do what I was gonna do in the first place and make you choke on it.”

But Cas is undeterred, continuing his gentle caresses in just the right places to make Dean hiss and roll his eyes back into his head. “I’m doing this because you’re the former vessel of Heaven. Because you’re my responsibility. Because I’ve failed you repeatedly and, yes, because I do love you with all of the depth of my soul - angelic, human, whatever it is I am now. Because you have seen and suffered and borne so much, and I  _ will not _ abide by allowing you to sin this way. I won’t let you rape me, Dean. I do believe that one day, you’ll be you again, the Dean I admire, the Dean I care for. The Dean that… I… love. And when that happens I don’t want you to have anything else to apologize for. So.” He looks up then through long, beautiful lashes, the smallest of smiles on his angelic face, but he holds Dean’s unblinking demonic gaze as he enunciates, “You. Have. My consent.”

If Dean had been human, the moment would’ve broken him. As a demon, he feels the very, very smallest of tinges in his insides, a flicker, and it makes him twitch away and furrow his brow momentarily - and then it’s gone. And he’s laughing - quiet chuckles at first, slowly rolling into a full-on roar of demonic laughter, and because he wants to and he finds it refreshing he slaps Castiel hard across the mouth before forcing his erection into the kneeling man’s mouth. “You say that like it matters. Like I wasn’t going to do it anyway.”

Cas’s mouth is magical, like-- well, like  _ Heaven _ , and that makes Dean laugh again as he fucks deeper and harder and pinches Castiel’s nose shut just because he can. He’s moaning fucking beautiful litany around Dean’s cock, and the hum just makes it better, and Dean’s spilling down that throat before he can stop himself.

When he’s finished, he pulls back and laughs over Cas, who collapses to the ground, struggling to catch his breath. “Go on. Go on and hate me.”

“I hate what you’ve become. But I could never hate you.”

His serenity makes Dean’s blood boil, and he roars in anger and stomps around, kicking at Cas’s crumpled form. Castiel coughs and folds his arms in to shield the most tender and vulnerable parts of his human body, but he accepts the beating and doesn’t fight back, not even when Dean pins him on his back against the hard and dirty ground; not even when Dean’s ravaging his mouth again and feeling with freely moving hands over his chest and stomach and hips and groin. “Fucking self-sacrificial bullshit,” Dean grumbles into the kisses, but Cas says nothing. He just stares up with those beautiful blue eyes, pleading, but Dean can’t rightly say for what. “Give it up, huh? You don’t want this. Fight me.  _ Fight me _ !”

But Cas doesn’t; if anything, he tightens the grip of his arms around Dean, pulling him closer, showing desire, and as Dean feels Castiel’s hardness between them, he starts to think maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Cas really does want this,  _ this way _ , right now. “Maybe you like the rough, kinky stuff, huh?” he hisses low into the angel’s ear. “Maybe that’s what gets you off. Maybe I should’ve done it just like this years ago, huh, angel boy?” Belt open and trousers pushed roughly down; there’s not going to be an ounce of gentleness, and the demon savors the angel’s scream as he’s penetrated deep and without mercy. In their mating dance they are unmistakably primal, wholly human, but the ring of holy fire and the sounds and heat coming from inside it betray all of that. They are pure angel, pure demon, driven by needs and wants older than the hairless apes who claim they rule the Earth. No.  _ This _ is power, and  _ this  _ is lust, and this is everything dark and everything light, colliding just shy of perfection, because pure evil takes without a care, and pure good bears every burden. So it has always been, and so it is here, in the forest, surrounded by a ring of fire.

When it’s over, they’re a mess of limbs and rumpled, half-shed human clothes, marked with emission that’s human but maybe shouldn’t be. Dean stalks toward the edge of the ring of fire, looking back at the angel just as he reaches the edge of the flame. He expects to see a broken man.

Instead, Castiel’s eyes meet his in a fiery gaze, steady, determined, but alive. Ready to rise to the challenge again, to consent again, if Dean isn’t satisfied.

“Next time, don’t be so stupid. Don’t come when I call, or it’ll be worse.” Dean has to look away, but he does stomp out an edge of the fire, just enough for the angel to walk free.

Because, he muses, how else could they meet like this again? 


End file.
